


The Sound of Your Heartbreak

by xxELF21xx



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Damian Wayne is Robin, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Nicknames, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Regret, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: Wherein everything hurts, and it only gets worse.





	1. Tripping Over Myself For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desolationofzara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desolationofzara/gifts).



> blessed queen [Zara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desolationofzara) gave us all a good, sweet prompt, then I ruined it by making it angsty. Buckle up, people, we're on for a ride. 
> 
> The original prompt: 

‘I don’t wanna!’ Jonathan whines, childishly digging his feet into the carpet and staying as still as possible, eyes clenched shut. Damian rolls his eyes, tugging insistently at his friend’s hand, tinier and paler than his own. ‘It’s just a horror movie, Kent, nothing will harm you.’ 

‘You won’t know that!’ Is the childish reply he gets.

He sighs, albeit a little dramatically, weighing his options. ‘Isn’t it strange,’ he begins, slowly, ‘that the world’s strongest, most indestructible boy, is afraid of a  _ horror movie?’  _ The words take effect immediately, Jonathan’s face goes up in flames, and he tries to sputter out a weak argument, only to quieten down after several seconds.

Really, there was nothing horrifying about the  _ Scream  _ movies. Damian didn’t understand what the fuss was all about.

He huffs, satisfied, and allows himself to be dragged by a fuming half-Kryptonian, tuning out the endless rambling. They sit directly in front of the screen, surrounded by plush cushions and soft blankets -- a precautionary measure in case Jonathan got too afraid. The endless amount of chips and candies are scattered about, with two bottles of water nestled between a blue and green pillow. Pennyworth was very careless this time, it would seem.

Jonathan immediately dives under a blanket, piling up the colourful cushions to surround him like a soundproof fort. ‘Really, now,’ Damian tuts, lying above the feathery haven, limbs splayed all on his side of the floor. The movie takes a while to load, but Jonathan’s ceaseless chattering is enough entertainment for him, the soothing voice lulling him closer to sleep.

The starting credits roll by, and Jonathan abruptly stops talking, long limbs plastering themselves on Damian, head buried in his pillow. He has half a mind to remind the other boy that the whole point of them being in the room was to  _ watch movies,  _ but his fuzzy mind forgets it as soon as the additional warmth washes over him.

Damian feels himself slipping off into comfortable darkness…

 

* * *

Jonathan has yet to reveal himself from under the pile of blankets and cushions, choosing instead to shout out muffled replies of paranoia. 

‘Nothing will harm you, Kansas Jr,’ Damian’s irritation is fake, but nobody knew that. He is graced with a reply so messy he can’t make out the start from the end, given the miserable groans of  _ “they’re going to kill me!”  _ and  _ “this is how I die!”  _ being repeated over and over again.

Damian did not wake up from his nap just to suffer this torture. The film is muted, a supposed hilarious scene plays out in front of dull green eyes.

Suddenly, Jonathan bursts out, an iron grip on his wrist. ‘Wha--’ He barely has the time to react before sensing a strong, fast heartbeat beating beneath his fingertips. 

‘Look at how fast it’s beating! This movie is terrible!’ Jonathan laments, indigo-blue eyes indignant. Pink blooms across Damian’s face, noting how intimate the gesture was. He tries to find a way to get Jonathan to let go of his wrist, but  _ thump-thump-thump  _ of his heartbeat is therapeutic.

Jonathan’s piercing stare is still on him. ‘If you’re really that terrified, then take some time to calm down. I’m here,’ he replies softly, sleep edging closer. ‘Just let me rest,’ he whispers, slumping over to rest his head on Jonathan’s chest. He can’t hear any talking, the  _ thump-thump-thump  _ deafening him.

 

* * *

 

It becomes a habit.

He’s always had trouble sleeping.

He got too dependent. He failed to see the consequences of his actions. Damian was so caught up in trying to figure out his emotions, he got too close.

 

* * *

 

It’s been an awful day -- board meetings with old geezers who want nothing more than to profit off the weak, Joker breaking out, Todd’s recent resurgence in Gotham, Luthor being an ass and subtle threats of war. 

He was beyond tired.

The keychains knock against each other a little too loud for his liking when he unlocks the door of his apartment. He trudges in, not bothering to switch on any lights, dumping his jacket and bag on the stool, his shoes are strewn by the step, and he clumsily takes off his socks, dumping them into a basket close to the shoe cabinet.

Damian almost trips over the step that separates the entryway from the rest of the apartment. The Metropolis skyline is set ablaze by the setting sun, casting dark shadows in the living room, he ignores it, making a beeline for the bedroom door.

He twists the doorknob, preparing to rant his heart out, ‘Jonathan, are you busy rig--’ The words die in his throat, the cold room greeting him harshly. Ice blue walls box up dark coloured furniture, making him feel as though he’d stepped into a showroom instead of Jonathan’s homey bedroom. Nothing was out of place, no personal effects could be found -- all of them locked away in the various cabinets and drawers.

_ Ah,  _ his mind catches on, wide crystal eyes staring at the dark frame of his best friend in a crisp suit.  _ I forgot again. _

Jonathan has been dead for over a year.

There was nobody there to calm him down.

His best friend is dead, had died in front of his own two eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

_ He’s holding onto Superboy,  _ _ red cape torn and blood all over the place. His hand is pressing down on the S shield, feeling the weakening flutter of an erratic heartbeat. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay," Damian says, not sure of who he's comforting. "You'll be fine." Jon smiles weakly at him, a bright splash in the broken city, "sorry." _

_ Damian feels the one heartbeat he cares about the most stutter, dropping so slow and so soft he can't feel it anymore. But it still calms him, as he waits for help. He can't move away from Jonathan. _

_ The moment it gives out, his world crashes down, shards of reality reflecting his memories, digging into his suit, his skin. He screams, silent, denial creeping up behind him. His brain kicks into overdrive -- he’s trying every method he knows to restart a still heart. CPR, mouth-to-mouth. Nothing. _

_ Nothing is working. _

_ He’s sobbing, crying hysterically into a dirty blue jacket, mouthing Jon’s name over and over again. The loud swoop of Batman’s cape thunders in his ears, but he pays them no mind, tears falling onto snow white skin. ‘Jonathan, Jonathan,’ he gasps, salt on his tongue, ‘wake up, stop playing. Stop it, Jonathan.’ _

_ ‘Robin,’ Batman calls, a hand on his shoulder. Reality strikes him, and he’s pushing against his father, begging him to help bring his friend back. ‘I can’t lose him, father. I cannot. Please, father.’ _

_ The red and blue of Superman’s uniform is in his line of sight, and he falls away to clutch at the other man. ‘Sir,’ he gasps, ‘sir, please. Please,’ that’s all he’s capable of saying right now, and he knows how pathetic he sounds. He’s grieving for a friend while Superman has yet to take in the fact that his  _ **_son_ ** _ is dead. ‘I cannot lose him, sir, I’m begging you --  _ **_bring him back to me.’_ **

_ Batman pulls him off of Superman, trying to calm him down. ‘Robin,’ he tries again, ‘what happened.’ _

_ Immediately, he screeches, unleashing fury onto his mentor. ‘Shut up! I-- leave me alone!’ Batman, taken aback, loosens his grip, stumbling back. ‘Son, calm down.’ Red crosses his vision, ‘why should I listen to you?!’ He’s shouting, the flames of fury licking at his feet, ‘listening to you is what caused Superboy’s fatality!’ _

_ He refuses to say the word. He cannot. _

_ Batman remains silent, the lenses of his cowl dimming. Superman has yet to speak, Jonathan cradled in his arms. He stops his rage, wondering if Jonathan has always looked this small and weak. _

_ ‘The Pit,’ he whispers, ‘we can use the Pit.’ Superman’s face turns grim, his grip tightening on Jon. ‘No.’ The word crushes him, forcing the air out of his lungs. ‘Why not? It can bring him back. I need him, sir. I-- I can’t…’ He  _ **_needs_ ** _ Jonathan -- to keep him steady, to laugh with him, needs Jonathan to keep his life bright and positive. Damian needs Jonathan as much as Bruce Wayne needs Clark Kent, and maybe even more. He opens his mouth, cracked lips bleeding, to make a request; but pained blue eyes gaze at him, a broken father holding onto what was left of his child. _

_ Robin’s domino mask falls off, the world around him turns grey and faded. _

_ ‘Superman reporting to Watchtower -- Superboy is dead.’ _

_ He never got the chance to tell Jon he loved him. _

 

* * *

Damian closes the bedroom door, retreating as if burnt and runs out the apartment, footsteps silent in the crowded evening. Unconsciously, he runs to Memorial Park, past all the statues he has no care for, right into the centre, where two statues stood side by side, facing him with clear blue eyes of different shades. He stops right in front of Superboy’s statue, rough granite making Jonathan look more menacing than he actually was. It made him look too old, sharp angles and unrealistic muscles, nothing like his Jonathan at all. 

His Jonathan was not a carbon copy of Kal-El.

The bronze plaque catches his attention.  _ Superboy. The World’s Hope.  _ And above it, inscribed into the metal, was his Jonathan’s dying heartbeat. Like an old habit, he runs his cold fingers over it, catching on every groove at every rise and fall, repeatedly, over and over again, like it was a never-ending cycle.  _ Thump-thump-thump,  _ He bites back his frustrations, his loss, his tears, fingers never stopping, smoothing out sharp metal as the calm washes over him.

‘He’s here again, that Wayne boy,’ somebody whispers behind him, pity in their voice. ‘He’s always hanging around here, wonder what happened to him?’ Someone else adds in. Damian lets the words phase through him, choosing to focus on how worn the plaque was getting.  _ Time to get it changed. What metal should I use this time? Silver? No, perhaps marble would be better. A better contrast. Harder to wear out. _

‘I hate you,’ he murmurs aggressively, ‘making me worry about you even in death.’ A trickling laughter rings across the circle,  _ ‘happy to hear it!’  _ Damian’s head shoots up, frantically turning around to find the source of the voice, and the scene ebbs away like rust on a pipe, Jonathan is fine: the kryptonite dagger wasn’t fatal at all. A warm body is pressed flush against his side, as always--

\--except the cold bites at his cheeks, snapping him awake. There is nobody by his side.

He is alone.

When he goes back to the apartment, he steals a glance at Jonathan’s door, fingers tingling with heat, before averting his gaze and running back to his room, the lone room at the end of the corridor.

‘There’s nothing wrong with this,’ he reasons, pulling open his dresser drawer and taking out a worn MP3 player, ‘nothing wrong with listening to heartbeats before bed. There isn’t.’ The earbuds slip in nicely, and he collapses above the covers, as he’s always done, drifting off to familiar darkness along with the fluttering  _ thump-thump-thump.  _ In that moment, he could trick himself into believing he was fifteen again, sitting in front of the screen, Jonathan’s latent body heat seeping into his skin as he munches his way through his third bag of chips, feeling a sore throat coming up, groggy with sleep.

* * *

 

 

He’s on the path towards Memorial Park again, the warm weather beating him down, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his neck. People don’t go to Memorial Park for fun, it’s usually a place for self-reflection, an escape from the fast-paced heartbeat of Metropolis. The park was usually empty during the day, which explains why Damian felt a shock run through him when he sees a figure standing in front of the other statue in the circle, head raised to look into cool blue sapphires. 

Without a doubt, that figure is Drake.

His elder brother is donned in a leather jacket, the blazing red S shield on black brings back certain memories of another son Superman lost. The slow sludge of depression turns into anger within a split second as Drake places a cluster of wildflowers in front of Jonathan’s statue. He wants to yell at Drake, throw a punch, start a fight; Drake did not belong here. But Superboy did not belong to Damian alone, he belonged to the  _ world.  _ He watches as Drake bears the stifling weather in the clone’s jacket, swiping his fingers against Conner’s plaque, tracing Conner’s dying heartbeat.

‘Hey, SB,’ Drake whispers, voice flying away with the wind, ‘how are you? I hope you’re treating your brother right up there, and not fighting over some stupid mantle like us.’ There is a spark of nostalgia in his tone, as if Drake and the clone had made jokes like this before. Then, ever so softly, ‘I miss you,’ his brother confesses, words layered with fondness and regret.

He wants to sneer, laugh and ask if Drake was talking to ghosts, but he’s guilty of doing the same; so he stays in the shadows, listening to his brother’s soft words. Fighting his siblings would never bring Jonathan back. Fighting with his siblings caused Jonathan great anguish; because Jonathan never had the chance to meet his own siblings.

Tim’s fingers never stop tracing the heartbeat, even as he talks.

He tries not to think about how Jonathan’s last words were  _ “please be happy”,  _ tries not to remember how Jonathan’s heartbeat was so so weak. He tries not to think about how his last words to Jonathan were caught in his throat, in that sea of calm before the winds of grief blew over. He tries not to remember how Jonathan smiled like he  _ knew _ what Damian was gonna say. 'It's okay, Damian. You're going to be okay,' Jonathan mirrors, eyes glassy, beautiful indigo-blue fading to pastel blue.

He feels Drake take a seat next to him when the sky turns dark, blanketing the city in stars. Neither of them utters a word, bathing in the silence, in their own grief and misery, in their loss.

‘The Wayne Heirs,’ Damian mocks, ‘look at how far we’ve fallen.’ A dry chuckle passes his lips, bitter.

* * *

 

 

‘Does the pain ever leave you?’ He asks, startling Drake from the other side of the Cave. Half of their gear lay on the steel surfaces of the table. Drake’s eyes are blown wide, a thousand emotions running past. Reluctantly, he replies, ‘do you want the Dick Grayson answer, or my own?’

‘I asked you, didn’t I?’

Drake’s staff goes tumbling onto the floor, the harsh sound of metal hitting ground scaring the bats. He’s clearly still reeling from the question, unsure of how to phrase it, unable to express his pain. ‘It never really does go away,’ he admits, smiling helplessly, ‘you miss him every day, wondering why you couldn’t move fast enough, why you didn’t stop his death. You blame yourself, the people around you, every living creature. You wake up, expecting him to be there, but there’s nobody. There isn’t anyone that’ll talk smack with you until you fall asleep, it’s so  _ quiet,  _ all of a sudden. There’s no banter, no noise, no  _ heartbeat.  _ You make a joke, expecting a reaction, then realise that there’s nobody there to fall for it. Sometimes, you even  _ forget  _ he’s gone.’ He shudders, curling into himself, tugging the sleeves of an unfamiliar hoodie.

‘Then, you get inexplicably  _ angry.  _ At the couples that pass by you, at anyone that’s happy or excited. You want to curse them all; because it’s  _ unfair  _ how they’re in bliss while you’re stuck in an endless loop of grief. You ask yourself, why was he taken? Could things have gone better? Could he have been something more to you?’ Drake’s tears are staining the brilliant yellow of the hoodie, staining it mustard, but he valiantly continues, ‘but then you hear  _ him,  _ he’s whispering into your ears, telling you to be happy, to let go and move on -- but can you? He knows how selfish you are, he knows that he was your everything, and now that he’s gone, so how could you just forget the history the both of you shared and just… be  _ happy?’ _

Drake’s breathing is elevated, bordering worrying, ‘it feels like you’re stuck in mud… and maybe… if you  _ sink  _ deep enough, you could meet him again.’ Damian’s alarmed, moving closer towards his brothers, the horror of his words sinking in. He’s within arm’s length when Drake continues, ‘but you know it would never work. No matter how much you want it to be reality, it doesn’t work.’

He rakes a hand through his hair, pulling at dark roots, voice cracking, ‘I  _ want  _ to believe it gets easier -- waking up alone, being without him. Maybe one day, you’ll stop crying in the bathroom every few hours, your breakdowns don’t last as long. Maybe one day you can think of him without tearing up, smiling instead because it’s  _ good enough.’ _

Damian’s gasping for breath, sobbing quietly into the sleeves of his sweater. Drake laughs, humourless, drying his tears with a cloth. ‘Everyone knows I can’t cope with loss. You’re a lot smarter than I, Damian. Don’t grieve like me.’

‘It might be a little too late, Tim.’

* * *

 

 

The apartment is in shambles -- furniture destroyed and kicked aside. His window has a gaping hole in it, glass beneath his feet. The alarms have yet to stop ringing, causing his anger to rise exponentially. Jonathan’s bedroom door is flung open, the room is a hurricane victim. He tears through his home, a silent fury, knives in hand, the loud rustling that came from his room makes him quicken his pace. There are too many things of importance in that room, they  _ cannot  _ be destroyed. 

‘What are you doing?’ Boiling green eyes glare down at the dark figure rummaging through his dresser. They scream, backing away into a far corner, panicking. Damian’s MP3 player lays smashed on the hardwood floors, screen cracked and the body in shambles.  _ ‘What did you do?’  _ He hisses, throwing a knife at the thief’s shoulder, pinning him against the wall in agony. ‘You touched something you weren’t supposed to,’ he continues, red filling his vision.  _ I should kill you. I must kill you. You took Jonathan away from me.  _ The second knife sinks into their left thigh, the third gutting them. The final throw at their heart is intercepted by a gauntleted hand, the yellow bat symbol blazing its righteousness in his eyes.

‘Damian!’ Brown screams from behind him, the purple of her Batgirl suit cutting into him, ‘stop this!’ He bares his teeth, throwing her aside easily, unsheathing his katana from the wall and takes a step forward for the ending slash--

_ ‘I thoughts Bats didn’t kill?’ Jonathan’s confused voice echoes in the silent night. Irritated, he cuts back, ‘well, sometimes you need to  _ **_hurt_ ** _ them to teach them a lesson.’ _

_ ‘By… killing them?’ _

_ ‘No, you doofus. Hurt them enough for them to wish for death.’ _

_ ‘Who taught you that?’ _

_ There’s a moment of deliberation, since neither Father nor Grayson taught him that, ‘Todd’ _

_ ‘Oh.’ Jonathan’s pouting now, ‘I don’t get it, and I don’t like it.’ _

_ ‘You dislike Todd?’ It’s an honest question, the boy was the most timid around Todd, even though the man was a huge softie. _

_ ‘No! No, no, no!’ Jonathan shakes his head swiftly, worriedly glancing over his shoulder as if Hood would appear at any moment. _

_ ‘I don’t understand,’ he says simply, fed up with the useless conversation. _

_ ‘I don’t like the whole… killing thing.’ _

\-- the katana clatters on the floor, Damian’s hands are cupped over his ears. He’s trying to clear his mind, but he can’t. The figure cries in pain, as Red Hood apprehends him and tosses him to the Batwing, knocking him out cold with the butt of his gun. Someone chides his brother, but Hood only shrugs and stands stock still, taking in the situation.

Hood asks if he’s injured, nimble fingers picking up the pieces of the MP3, wrapping it up in a handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry,’ Todd whispers, wiping his tears messily with kevlar gloves, placing the handkerchief in his trembling hands. Damian collapses onto Brown, eliciting a shriek, cradling the broken pieces of his memories like it was the Holy Grail.

‘I’ve got nothing left,’ he croaks, ‘this was all I had of him -- and now he’s gone.’ Brown brings his head close, repeatedly apologising for being a step too late. ‘I  _ need  _ him, I-- I can’t  _ live  _ without him.’ 


	2. All I Ever Wished For

They don’t tell him that Jonathan’s body was kept frozen in the Fortress. They don’t tell him much at all, actually. Superman has been trying to heal his dead son’s body, trying to get dead cells working to cover the gaping wound in his son’s chest.

Damian stares at the lifeless body, his breath hitching. Jonathan’s body…  has _aged._ He’s aged just like Damian has.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ He gasps, cool fingertips brushing against the warm glass of the container. Behind him, Batman’s cape flutters non-stop, the man has been pacing the room for quite some time. ‘Father, what is this?’ The pacing falters slightly, a boot scuffing against the floor softly. ‘Was he not cremated?’ The question is only above a whisper, but it sounded terribly loud in the silence. ‘Did you not have a proper funeral for him?’ The air around him is unbearably hot, like someone had lit a bonfire mere inches from his face.

‘Superman, he-- ‘ Batman pauses, collecting his thoughts, ‘he thought about it. Your idea. We tried to dissuade him, of course-- but,’ he sighs, the tell-tale _whip_ of the cowl being pushed up, and the pulling of greying hair follows. Damian’s eyes are glued to the case, he’s just _one barrier_ away from Jonathan. ’Ever since you suggested using the Pit, Clark-- he’s planned the whole thing out: Heal Jon as much as he can with the Fortress’ technology, make sure the body is well and healthy. The Pit could then be used to just bring him back to life.’

His world, for a second, sparks with bright colours. _I have a possibility of seeing Jonathan again._

‘Why did you not tell me?’ He nearly screams, buzzing with anxiety and excitement. Jonathan… he might get Jonathan back. Batman sighs, ‘there might be complications. We all know how magic and Kryptonians do not match. Starfire has been kind enough to donate a bit of her DNA to help sustain any sort of injury Jon may attain when we place him in the Pit, but we do not know how much Starfire can shield.’

_Starfire?_

‘If she is involved, then would Jonathan-- ‘ Batman cuts him off, tapping several interfaces to activate a diagram that showed Jonathan’s health levels, a big portion of which has been covered by a number of text bubbles stating the precautions taken to protect Jonathan’s body from harm. ‘Starfire states that her DNA should wear off once the Pit comes in contact with the body. If there is an excess, we can always extract it.’ Damian swallows his nerves, anxious and afraid. ‘What if there’s too little?’ His father frowns, ‘we should have enough.’ There is no hidden paranoia in his words, no hesitation. ‘Superman has been thorough in his calculations.’

‘You were not involved?’

‘I- no, Damian. I cannot be involved.’ He’s suddenly overwhelmed by fury and grief, grasping for the right words to use. ‘This isn’t just a father reviving a son,’ his voice echoes in the dark fortress, bouncing loudly off steel walls, ‘Jonathan is _my_ friend. Have you not considered that fact?! Clark Kent was there all those years ago, when Todd passed on, to stop you from going berserk and rampant -- now is the time for you to do the same! The risks are all laid bare for the world! What if Starfire’s DNA is weak compared to the Pit’s strength? What if there isn’t enough? What if Jonathan comes back wrong, like Todd?’

His chest is heaving, tears threatening to spill over, he doesn’t notice how he’s gravitated closer to Jonathan’s body, as if shielding it from his father. ‘Father, please,’ he’s tired, so, so _tired._ ‘Take a look at the risks again, there’s so much to lose.’ There was too much to lose.

Batman, as always, is silent. The whites of his cowl stare at Jonathan, wide and fearful, ‘we will not interrupt. Damian, Clark stopped me because I was going against my morals. All I can do for him, in return, is to ensure that his son comes back safely, no matter the risks. He and Lois have already lost so much. I can never make any of my children happy; I’ve already failed Tim, I could at least -- I want to try to make _you_ happy, again.’

 

* * *

 

_They were sitting a little too close together, Jonathan warming the snow under him and creating a pool of water around him. Damian scoffs, playfully flicking a few droplets of water at the younger boy’s face._

_‘Control yourself better,’ he teases, mirth in lush green eyes, ‘or else we’ll get found out.’ They were in the middle of a Christmas market, somewhere in Germany. Naturally, he’d Jonathan to bring him there as a joke, to see how far his friend would bend the rules for him, not expecting to go anywhere a mere minute before bedtime. Jonathan giggles, face glowing pink from the lights, taking in the sights and sounds as if he were a baby seeing for the first time. ‘Hush it, I’ve never been this far from home before,’ he’s very obviously wowed by the sheer size of the market, twisting his body to look at a group of rowdy teens mushing snow in each other’s hair while biting off the heads of gingerbread men._

_The festive colours of the market bring out the more childish side of them both, as minutes later they’re running around the crowded city square, each holding a cup of warm hot chocolate in one hand and a piece of cake in the other, looking at the wide variety of handmade goods on sale. Jonathan yells something about seeing an adorable keychain of his version of Robin, dragging him to a much quieter part of the square._

_‘Look,’ he whispers, long fingers carefully curling around a metal and glass keychain. It’s a beautiful thing, Damian acknowledges, catching the light around it and warping it red, yellow and green. The head of this Robin -- his head, he muses -- is made entirely out of a dark coloured glass; inside of it sat two tiny marbles, one gold and the other a green that matched his eyes. ‘It’s adorable, isn’t it?’ Jonathan smiles, studying the craftsmanship._

_‘It’s beautiful,’ he replies, admiring the fond expression on his friend’s face. Jonathan lights up, laughing gently, ‘hey, look! There’s Superboy, too!’ The other keychain was similarly made, but the marbles inside Jonathan’s head was silver and indigo-blue, like his eyes._

_Damian reaches into his pocket, pulling out a fifty. ‘Do you accept any other currency?’ He asks fluently, while Jonathan remained entranced, ‘I’m all out of Euros.’ The lady at the stall smiles brightly, accepting it with a lengthy thanks. ‘It doesn’t cost this much,’ she admonishes, looking for change. ‘It’s alright,’ he assures, ‘my friend likes your craftsmanship a lot, miss. Thank you.’_

_They bid her farewell, and he holds the Superboy keychain out for Jonathan to take. ‘Here you go,’ he dangles it in front of the other boy’s face, the marbles clacking together softly. ‘Huh? Since when did you- ‘_

_‘Do you want it or not?’ He huffs, impatient. Jonathan shakes his head, leaving him confused. ‘Let’s trade -- you take Superboy and I’ll take Robin?’ Damian blinks, dumbfounded, but finds himself too worn out to care._

_‘Sure, let’s trade.’_

 

* * *

 

It takes a few more days for Jonathan’s body to be deemed healthy enough for revival -- which sounds horribly _wrong_ in his ears. He hasn’t slept a _wink_ at all for the past two days, nervous and excited while afraid.

Mother has been kind enough to allow them to use a Pit that once belonged to Ra’s, though it has been untouched by anyone. Damian thinks it’s because she pities him and his moping, but he’s too tired to ask any questions.

Not many people are there, just Superman, Lois, his father, Nightwing, his mother, and him. The League was informed but was barred from coming due to personal reasons. It made no sense for his brother to be here, to be completely honest, if not for the fact that Damian felt like he was going to puke his guts at any minute.

Superman gingerly lifts Jonathan up, whispering something he can’t quite hear, before dipping him slowly, carefully, into the clear green pool. His mother’s grip on his shoulder tightens, as she too murmurs a quick prayer for good luck. Damian’s whole body is frozen, his breathing shallow and fast, the whites of his knuckles are a pale contrast against his skin and dark clothes. Nobody here was in uniform. They were here as family, as friends, hoping for somebody close to return to them.

The body sinks, and for a terrifying moment, he thinks it would never float back up. Then, the water bubbles, fizzing with sparks of dark green, not unlike Starfire’s magic, reacting aggressively with Jonathan’s flesh. His breath hitches as he watches the waters calm down again, violent splashes turning into gentle ripples. Small bubbles surface, and a head of black hair pops up against the clear green.

Indigo-blue eyes open up wide, staring straight at him. It has been a _year_ since he’s seen that beautiful colour. For a moment, a spark of relief ignites in his chest. He draws closer, taking a step forward, but his mother holds him back.

A confused sound escapes him, his eyes leaving Jonathan to stare at Talia. ‘Something is wrong,’ she whispers urgently, unsheathing her dagger slowly. ‘What? Mother, no, that’s _Jonathan!’_ He hisses, clamping his hand on the hilt. Sharp green eyes bore into Jonathan, taking in the differences Damian cannot see, ‘I would know, my child. Something is wrong with Jonathan.’ He’s about to protest, but a sob tears out from Lois.

Immediately, his head swivels to take a look at what has happened. Who he considers to be one of the strongest women in the world is shaken -- a shaken mother reunites with her child. Lois does not stop crying, babbling incoherently about how much she’s missed Jonathan and how she’s sorry for not looking out for him. Damian wants to yell that it was not her fault -- it was _his._ Jonathan remains stock still in her arms, beautiful eyes staring at Lois with an unknown expression.

‘Mrs Kent,’ Damian begins, brushing away his mother’s hands to walk towards them, ‘it was not anyone’s fault but mine that Jonathan was taken from you. I- I’m sorry.’ Lois shakes her head, drying her tears messily with her shirt, about to reprimand him for being too hard on himself _again,_ when Jonathan speaks up.

His childish voice, once high and fluttery, is now slightly deeper, but still a magnificent musical in every way. Damian’s missed this -- ** _Damian misses Jonathan._**

‘Who are you?’

His world comes crashing down once again, shattering into sharper, tinier pieces, scattering around at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	3. Looking In a Telescope to See Two of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the number of chapters has become indefinite, which means it could only go downhill from here.

‘Jon! Are you done trying to flood the bathroom again?’ He tries to be as serious as he can, but the mere thought of the fool drenched in bathwater has him giggling slightly. A loud, childish yell of _No!_ leads him to conclude that _yes,_ the fool has flooded the bathroom again. Damian hopes that there wasn’t any substantial damage done. Ever since Jon took up to living in their apartment again, he’s been trying everything to destroy it.

Not that it _could_ be destroyed, with lead-lined walls and forged glass supports, not even _Superman_ could wreck the place. Not anymore, that is. The breaking-in incident was still fresh in his mind, and Damian tamps down the urge to cry, finding solace in another person’s warmth and smiles.

He may have gotten Jon Kent back, but Jonathan was probably never coming home.

It’s surprisingly easy to call him Jon, the name a soft ripple in the sea of sounds. It’s easy to fall into step with the blue-eyed beauty, working with each other and talking as if they’d known each other since the day they were in diapers. Jon Kent liked the same things, talked the same way, does the same things, and spoke with the same phrases as Jonathan Kent.

Maybe that’s why it was always so difficult keeping his mouth shut, keeping his alter-ego under wraps and locked away in his closet.

Maybe that’s why breathing suddenly became ten times harder.

Drake was right, in a sense. He may have stopped sinking in mud, stopped crying twice as hard and thrice as long, he may not be hurting as bad -- but time doesn’t heal all wounds.

Time hasn’t allowed Jonathan to rest.

Jon steps out of the bathroom, a wet mess. Like a giant golden retriever that just took its first bath. He’s dressed like Jonathan would, a graphic tee and baggy pants, glasses askew on his face. Damian sighs, automatically reaching out to adjust them properly, brushing away wet bangs so that shimmering eyes could be seen.

That was an obvious mistake. Damian’s never done this for Jon Kent. He’s _never_ initiated contact with Jon Kent.

A noise escapes Jon, causing him to snap out of his reverie. ‘Ah,’ he says, stepping back to create space, ‘sorry. Your untidy appearance was rather irritating.’ Jon frowns, confused and flustered, cheeks blossoming a light pink, ‘wow, rude.’ He plays it off with a crooked smile, switching the topic to dinner, prompting the other boy to excitedly ask if they could get some takeout instead of cooking. And just like that -- they fall back into their little routine.

Damian Wayne keeps Jonathan Kent in his heart, but Jon Kent an arm’s length away.

 

* * *

 

 

It shouldn’t come as a shock, not really, when Jon decides to watch a horror movie. In a strange, stinging sense of deja vu, they’re on the floor of their apartment, blankets and cushions in a large pile, with snacks and drinks littered around it.

Jon slides in the old _Scream_ disk that Damian had brought with him when they moved in, propped up against the TV screen as a mocking reminder of what happened when they were teens. ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright with that movie?’ He finds himself unable to stop asking questions. Jon huffs, flopping down next to him, ‘it’s not even _that_ scary, why? I used to be afraid of this?’ His mouth goes dry, turning away so he faced the screen, ‘yea,’ he replies, detached and soft.

‘Oh.’ The whole scene falls away, replaced by what happened years ago. Damian bites back his tears, shoulders shivering slightly, the cold gripping at his heart, blood turning to sludge and his bones feeling way too heavy. Jon’s eyes are enraptured, focused on the movie, body trembling with shock and anticipation.

Jon’s fingers find his, twisting them together tightly, a whimper escaping him. Damian snorts, seeing a teen, ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Fifteen-year-old Jonathan glares at him, vibrant indigo-blue burning into him, daring him to talk. He relents, pushing back into his seat, looking at the blurry screen. The grip tightens, a distant _thum-thum-thump_ shaking him to his very core.

The first tears start to drip down onto his shirt as Jon hides his face in Damian’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

The second mistake was going out every night, and returning at dawn.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Where do you go, after I’m asleep?’ He brings it up so casually, like they were talking about the news, spreading butter on his bread. Damian puts his cup down, sarcastically mocking him for eating bread with butter when there was peanut butter on the counter. ‘Answer the question, jerk,’ Jon slams the lid of the butter container down harder than necessary, causing minor hairline cracks to decorate the sides of the lid, Damian doesn’t point that out.

‘Why, I didn’t know you wanted in on what I did at night,’ he smirks, flirtatiously exclaiming. It’s become second nature to act this way, after Jon was shoved into his life. The other man colours brilliantly, face aflame, ‘w-what?’ He warbles, ‘every n- _night?’_ He grins wider, ignoring the sting in his chest, ‘would you; like to join?’

Jon flees the kitchen and out the door without a word.

The facade peels off, leaving him exhausted and aching. His abdomen complains, an ugly blue mottling dark skin; hissing, he digs the ice pack deeper into the wound, relishing in the pain and gritting his teeth as he curses at the Riddler. ‘Next time I see him,’ he makes a dark promise to himself, tossing the ice pack and his breakfast into the trash bin, leaving for his room. He has business to settle in Gotham.

 

* * *

 

 

Then comes the third error.

 

* * *

 

 

Brown makes her weekly trip to the apartment, groceries and other stuff in hand, head bandaged from a nasty cut that the Joker’s card gave her. Damian forgot that Jon didn’t have to report for work today, and he himself woke up a little later than usual on Tuesdays. This meant that Jon was the one to open the door at 11:45, on a Tuesday, to see a blonde he’s never met before.

‘Uh,’ Jon stutters, taking in the bandages and the roughed up knuckles, ‘you are…?’ The lady gives him an unreadable look, eyebrow raised, ‘whoever I am, don’t you think you should at least help me?’ Scrambling, Jon allows the lady to dump the bags into his hands while she walks into the house like she owned it.

‘Is Dami okay?’ She asks, playing with the frays of her bandage, ‘he didn’t take it too well with my injury, the silly boy, even though I told him it was only a cut.’ She mumbles something else, but it was too soft for his sharp hearing, making her way deeper into the apartment. Alarm bells go off in his head, and he piles all the groceries on the kitchen counter before going after her.

‘I don’t think you should be in his- ‘ the words die off as he halts. Damian’s door is ajar, allowing a sliver of the only room he wasn’t allowed into. On the bed, his friend is sleepy, familiar green eyes clouded over with fatigue. The lady helps him sit up, admonishing him for something he couldn’t quite understand; but Damian cuts her off, long fingers he’s grown to like leaving butterfly touches near the lady’s bandages, eyes clearing into sharp concern and regret. He says something, mouth moving to form _I’m sorry,_ which has the lady slapping a hand over his mouth.

Damian’s clearly frowning, a finger over busted knuckles. ‘It’s not your fault!’ She exclaims, waving her free hand around, ‘if anything, I was dumb enough to get in the way! Stop it, Dami!’ The lady adds in more, but her words are thick with an accent he can’t pinpoint. Somewhere along the way, his best friend rests his head on her shoulder, shaking with tears.

Jon backs away, staying as silent as possible, something he can’t fathom growling in his mind. He’s seen something he shouldn’t have. He hurries back to the kitchen, shoving vegetables and sauces into the fridge, willing himself to forget that intimate exchange.

 

The lady reappears after a while, new bandages around her head and knuckles. Jon can’t help but worry, ‘do you need anything for your injuries?’ He has a towel wrapped in ice in his hand, offering it to her. She beams, pinching his cheek as she takes it, ‘aww, Jonno, you’re so sweet, as always!’ He blinks, ‘ _Jonno?’_

She hums, pressing the towel into her forehead, sighing in relief, ‘yeah, we used to call you that all the time.’ She studies him for a while longer, gazing through his soul, ‘what? Is it because I’m not on the Gotham Gazette as often as the rest? Is that why you can’t recognise me?’

‘Gotham Gazette? The newspaper?’

Her eyebrows crinkle together, ‘you… you do _know_ that Dami’s a Gothamite right? Like, he’s from _the_ richest and oldest family in Gotham. Right, Jon?’

_Huh?_

At his lack of response, she makes an annoyed sound, cursing under her breath. ‘Just _how much_ do you not know? Did he tell you about Kon? Or any of his brothers?’ This muddles his brain even more, ‘he has _brothers?_ Damian’s… _rich?’_ She pinches her eyes together, breathing lowly.

‘You really don’t remember,’ she gasps, bright blue eyes grieving. Jon’s not sure if he’s supposed to.

 

* * *

 

 

Brown leaves in a storm, texting him about how clueless Jon was. _Have you tried to fill him in on your status, about Kon?_ His fingers hover over the _send_ key, his answer glaring at him as he paces about his room. _Of course I have, but he just can’t seem to grasp at the situation, I don’t know what to do._

Her reply takes a little longer, allowing him to find some peace. _So he just… forgets? Like his brain filters it out?_

_It seems so._

_Wanna ask B why?_

He ponders, tapping random keys before firing it away. Should he? Father didn’t have an answer as to why Jon turned out like this, neither did he know why Jon ignored most things. _Perhaps. I would be returning to Gotham next week._

_Take care, Dami. Duke’s asking for you._

He leaves his room to find Jon slumped on the floor, a dripping towel in his hands. ‘What’s wrong?’ He keeps his tone light, treading at a safe distance. Jon turns up to look at him, empty eyes trained on something on the wall. ‘Hey, Damian?’ Jon sounds lost, to which he curses at. This wasn’t something he wanted to deal with right now. He grunts as a reply, slipping down to sit opposite. Jon doesn’t say anything for a while, collecting his thoughts, then, ‘how many times have you told me about yourself and your family?’

His breathing cuts off.

‘What?’

Jon gives him a scandalized look. He points a finger at Damian, then at himself, ‘you’re _Damian Wayne,_ of Gotham. High society. Elite. Me? I’m Jon Kent, middle-class Metropolitan. How is it that we’re _here,_ in Metropolis’ most expensive property, living together like we’re pals?’ Damian’s skin is on fire, deep purple and gut-wrenching.

‘Our fathers are best friends. We met each other as kids. We became best friends.’ _I fell in love with you, you died, then someone else came back._ He knows his answers are evasive, but he can’t bring it in himself to spill everything to someone who wasn’t Jonathan.

‘Then that lady… who is she?’ Something akin to _jealousy_ sparks in Jon’s voice, bitter and nasty. _Did they fight?_ He must’ve shown something on his face, because Jon reigns his sudden anger in, ‘is she someone important?’ He nods, a little irked, ‘she’s my _sister,_ you doofus; of _course_ she’s important! Do you not read the news?’ Jon colours slightly, turning away, ‘n-no. I don’t like reading about gossip.’ His stare falls flat, green eyes glossing over. _Jonathan would do anything to make sure he gets his morning news. You’re… not him._ ‘Do you at least the important news, Jon?’ This boy was testing his patience.

A nod, ‘I’m not going to be _totally_ ignorant, you know?!’ Damian hums, unconvinced, ‘and how did you miss Brown’s segment of the news -- _Stephanie Brown Uncovers the Horrendous Truths of Gotham’s Underprivileged.’_ Jon burns like a wicker, babbling something about reading it but not seeing the large photo on the front page. They sit in silence, Jon was probably processing what just happened while Damian feels the fatigue catch up to him. He uses the wall for support as he stands, ‘I’m going to be going home next week, Jon. Lois wants you to go back and see Ma and Pa Kent.’

‘Oh! Why didn’t Mom tell me though?’ It’s almost a petulant whine, which causes him to roll his eyes. ‘Why? Because you never bother remembering, Jon.’ He’s affirmative that Jon sticks out his tongue at him, but ignores it, trudging back into his room.

‘Don’t go near my room, I want to sleep.’

 

* * *

 

 

The last mistake, he reckons, is his evasiveness.

 

* * *

 

 

As promised, he goes back home to Gotham; driving down the deserted highway. The only issue is, _Jon’s_ with him. Clark had insisted that he’d take Jon to visit Bruce, seeing as how they haven’t seen each other since… _that day._ Jon, the puppy he is, immediately agreed, begging Damian to accept his fate. _He knows I can’t say no to him,_ he grumbled, reluctantly allowing the city boy to tag along.

Texting Thomas in advance was proving to be the best choice; as his car was cruising up the winding roads to the Manor, his brother had texted him back to inform him that Todd was currently in town, Grayson was in Haven, and Row was with Cain in Hong Kong. _Father?_ He asks, tossing the device aside as he narrowly avoids a few creeping vines at the edges of the road; Ivy has come to play, it would seem.

‘Uh, your phone’s buzzing,’ Jon holds up his phone, staring at the obnoxious Red Hood keychain attached to it, ‘didn’t know you were a fan of Red Hood.’ The comment rubs him the wrong way, causing him to bristle and snatch it back. ‘Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, Jon.’ _You used to idolise him because he did things you couldn’t. Guess you won’t remember it._ Father was in, Thomas reports, advising him to steer clear of the Cave for a bit.

_I’m not going to be on patrol for a while, Thomas._

_Oh? Then why’re you back?? I needed a partner bc Dick’s out of town_

_Am I supposed to be Grayson’s replacement, Thomas?_

_I mean, you did replace him as Robin, lmao_

He snorts, not bothering to reply. Jon watches him with burning curiosity, ‘who was that?’ Lately, that’s been the one question that he’s been forced to answer. At every turn, it would seem as if Jon was _jealous._ ‘My brother,’ he replies simply, buzzing the intercom at the iron gates, watching as they part to reveal the expansive Manor. Jon’s gaze wanders to the view, cringing at the size of the land. ‘Which brother? You’ve got so many,’ he mutters something else about offendingly rich people, to which Damian ignores, spotting the doors opening.

Damian grins, jumping out of the car before it stops completely, barging into Thomas as the man yells at him about safety. ‘Spoilsport,’ he complains, letting himself be shoved aside so that Thomas could help with the bags, ‘what is this -- I _actually_ initiate contact and you push me away? Grayson would be displeased.’ Thomas’ reply is muffled, but given the look on Jon’s face, it must have been something along the lines of _“go suck a dick, Wayne”._

‘Don’t call him out like that, Duke, his friend’s _right there,’_ Todd’s irritating voice chimes in, the man himself leaning against the doorway with a giant dog in his arms. Both Todd and Titus was enough to block the entryway, which meant that Damian had to be stuck with their insufferable teasing until Pennyworth came to the rescue. Jon yelps, hiding his face in his hands, a blush already forming on his face. _What’s up with him?_ Todd mouths, pointing a finger at the mess in his car, he shrugs, _who knows?_ Their silent conversation lasts another 30 seconds before Thomas complains about ungrateful kids and not knowing how to take some of their own luggage, prompting Damian to help out.

‘Alfie’s with B right now, so he won’t be back until dinner. Speaking of which, I’ll be cooking tonight; whaddya want?’ Damian’s reply is automatic: ‘bamboo rice, pan-seared vegetables and- ‘

‘Mushroom risotto,’ Jon cuts him off. Damian blinks, startled, ‘Y-yea. That.’ There could have been _no_ way for Jon to know that Todd’s mushroom risotto was his favourite, yet… Todd lifts an eyebrow at him, ‘dessert?’ He absently mumbles about Neapolitan milkshakes and peach parfait, and Jon chimes in by requesting French toast -- and while it wasn’t a dessert food, Damian was particularly _fond_ of it.

But there was not one instance which he’d told Jon Kent about it.

‘Right-o,’ Todd smiles, excusing himself. The second he’s gone, Damian’s phone vibrates. _Did you tell him your favourite foods without realising?_ Furrowing his brow, he replies with a hasty _no._ ‘Come, Jon, let’s go to our rooms.’ He shoulders his backpack, thankful that they didn’t have to pack much. ‘Your room is directly opposite mine, the clothes should still be able to fit you.’ The man follows him, albeit a little dumbstruck at all the riches on display. ‘Hopefully, your room’s been cleaned and dusted,’ he murmurs as an afterthought, wondering if the spare Superboy costume was taken out yet.

The walk to their rooms was mostly filled with mindless chatter from Jon, asking questions about his personal life. ‘Wait, Bruce Wayne’s your dad; right?’ Damian nods, allowing the familiarity of the corridors to soothe him, ‘so… Who’s your mom? Bruce Wayne married Selina Kyle when you were a teen.’ He sighs, feeling the onslaught of a headache coming, ‘Talia Head, an heir to another corporation. Father and Mother had a… _complicated_ relationship.’ Jon nods, ‘sorry if I brought up any bad memories.’

_You brought more than bad memories, Jon._

‘It’s alright, my relationship with both of them are stable.’

‘That guy we met near the kitchen, who is he? I don’t recognise him from any family photos.’

Damian pauses in his tracks, mind racing and heart thumping wildly in his chest. _I forgot about Todd._ ‘He… he’s a close family friend.’ Jon presses for more answers about this “mysterious man”, but he ends up changing the topic as subtly as he can. ‘I’ll see you for dinner, Jon; if you get lost, just whistle for Titus.’

Jon gives a sceptical look, ‘how would I know how to whistle for _your_ dog?’ He raises an eyebrow, not unlike Todd, ‘you’ll figure it out, I have faith in you.’ Even though they were standing at least three metres apart, Damian could see the violet flecks in Jon’s eyes sparkle under the soft light; not wanting to get caught staring, he opens the door to his room, watching as Jon disappears from his sight -- inch by inch.

Finally, alone, he sinks down onto the carpeted floors, dreaded anticipation filling him up. Jon’s only ever talked to Grayson, but that was… what, half a year ago? On the day of his rebirth? Drake had all but disappeared after that day, swept up in a quiet rage and lost in the world that could’ve been. Damian clutches at his heart, aching for his brother’s lost love. Bruce’s words ring in his head: _I’ve already failed Tim, I could at least -- I_ **_want_ ** _to try to make you happy, again._

He’s not sure if he’s _happy._ This… feeling in his chest was nothing he’s ever experienced before; hollow, but not quite empty. He doesn’t _think_ this is what happiness is, and he can’t confirm if this was the feeling of _letting go_ that Drake talked about, once.

 

Jon does end up making it to the dining room, Titus being his exceptional lead. Smugly, Damian raises a glass at him, watching Jon flush a pretty pink. Thomas rolls his eyes while Todd snorts. ‘Some things never change, huh?’ Thomas teases, laughing at the response from the both of them.

‘What does that mean?’ Jon’s question goes unanswered as Bruce appears, a tall, impeding figure, steel eyes glaring holes into Jon. ‘Jon,’ he greets warmly, cautious. ‘Uh… hi?’ Jon yelps, attempting to make himself smaller, ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to address you, uhm,’ he fumbles, flailing slightly. Bruce takes a seat, nodding at Alfred to start serving dinner, ‘you used to call me Uncle B, if that would help.’

‘O-okay, Uncle B?’

Damian winces, the way it was said rubbing him the wrong way. _He even says it different…_ Bruce seems to think the same way, given the subtle change in the way he held his utensils.

Dinner is a silent affair. Jon’s eyes are pinned to Todd’s every move, mirroring a hawk and its prey. Slightly disturbed, he ignores it in favour of texting Drake; asking if the man was eating and resting well.

 _I could be better,_ Drake admits, _haven’t been sleeping much? I guess.... been having weird dreams._ Damian frowns, typing a quick reply back, _Kon?_

 

_Yes._

 

He stands up hastily, ‘I’m done with dinner,’ he states blandly, ‘thank you for dinner, Todd.’ Todd’s lips are pulled back in confusion, but he nods regardless. ‘Father, I will be headed to the penthouse for a bit, it seems that Drake got into some trouble.’ Giving no time for Bruce to respond, both Todd and he take off, running to their bikes.

‘Why are you following me?!’ He almost yells, slapping a helmet over his head. Todd grunts, rolling his shoulders, ‘the kid was creeping me out with the staring! Reign him in a little, Demon!’ They glare at each other from across the road, zooming past traffic lights, racing against each other to the penthouse in downtown Gotham, pushing aside worry for a childish chase.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon’s not really sure what to do now.

Damian and the other man left so abruptly that he can’t but worry about Tim -- that must be who _Drake_ is, right? Damian calls Duke by his last name, so there’s no doubt that he’ll do that for the rest of his siblings. ‘Will Tim be okay?’ He directs the question at Duke, still not sure of how to approach Bruce Wayne -- _who he used to call Uncle B, what even?!_ ‘Hopefully. He’s going through some… _stuff,’_ the older man cringes at his choice of words.

 _Did he tell you about Kon?_ Stephanie’s question circles around his mind. He chews thoroughly, confused as to why _Kon_ was so important. Who was _Kon?_

‘Is it about Kon?’ Bruce’s fork slips from his grasp, clacking loudly against expensive china. Jon startles, glancing over at the frozen man. ‘Did… Did Damian tell you about Kon?’ The billionaire was pale, regret and grief in his hoarse voice. Jon shakes his head, ‘I think… he tried? But I don’t... remember… Is Kon someone important?’

Broken blue eyes stare at him, Bruce opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to form words. ‘He was your brother.’ _Was?_ ‘Wait, what do you mean _was?_ Did something happen to him?’ Bruce’s jaw clicks shut, he sits ramrod straight, turning his gaze towards his dinner.

‘Your brother passed away years ago, Jon. You’ve never met him,’ Duke whispers, unable to look at him.

Jon feels like the ground beneath had shifted. _I had a brother?_

 

That’s when the building blocks start to fall apart, Damian guesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone interested in a playlist of sorts? 
> 
> writing jon's pov was kinda fun and refreshing, tbh. also, duke and damian interactions are gOoD.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all cry together on my [tumblr.](<a%20href=)


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